The Heart of Darkness
by Lamanth
Summary: ONE SHOT – What tangled webs we weave when first we practice to deceive. But the webs were woven inside his mind and the delusions were of his own making. Hiro/Brooklyn/Kai sort of - Bday Iluvbeyblade


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Beyblade or any of its characters, merchandise, TV rights, ect… (I think you get the point.)

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Summery 

ONE SHOT – What tangled webs we weave when first we practice to deceive. But the webs were woven inside his mind and the delusions were of his own making. (Hiro/Brooklyn/Kai – sort of)

Like all of my work this is just something that happened to float through the empty void inside my head. Like it or hate it please R and R as honest opinions are always welcomed, as are random acts of worship.

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_Lamb:_ Well my love there is so much I want to say to you but I will never be able to find the words to express how much you mean to me. You are everything I would ever need in a friend and so much more and I will always love you.

**Muse:** The request was for Hiro/Brooklyn angst with some Kai thrown in. It sort of got a life of it's own and then mutated into something beyond recognition. And if Brooklyn hasn't already been section at the start of this he will be by the end.

_Dedi:_ Oh so very true. This story is dedicated to **Iluvbeyblade**, because not only is today her 18th birthday but also because she is one of the most important people in Lamb's life. So, **Iluvbeyblade**, this is for you.

Lamb: As always sorry for any bad spelling and if you feel the need to throw things at me please wait until I've hidden behind the sofa kay!?

M**use: **On with the fic!

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_It's too close for comfort, oh,_

_It's a thief in the night to come and grab you,__  
_

_It can creep up inside you and consume you,  
_

_A disease of the mind it can control you,  
_

_I feel like a monster, oh,_

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**The Heart of Darkness**

All in his mind is mixed and confused, memories bleeding into memories and creating still more. The remembering of things that never truly happened at yet he can feel them as keenly as if part of him were still living in the non-events. He can hear the voices, muted mutters that say he is ill so very ill and he would laugh if only he could but feels too exhausted.

Many thoughts, guesses, fears go round and round inside his battered mind. They whirl in a confusing kaleidoscope of bright dizzying colours and patterns and in some dim way he understands that he was misled in all. There's a cowards wish in the darkness behind his eyes. A wish to close those very same eyes and escape the vagueness that infests the place where his self-awareness once resided.

They say that he is ill but he knows that it would be closer to the truth if the called him insane and he wants to laugh at the obscenity of it all. But he won't, he can't and feels himself too feeble and helpless unable even to raise his head and shake free the cobwebs that weave throughout the labyrinthine passages of his mind.

It is difficult to express what he feels, thinks and wants. He wonders if these facts should worry him and is only troubled by the realisation that he can find no answer to the query.

Such a stupid wish, he knows, to write across the pages of his mind when there are many more things that should distress him. He knew very well that he was not such a one who could truly do such a thing even if at times it seemed that he might want try to. Always there is the dark entity that puts up a fence around such thoughts, something that always stopped him at the last moment.

Loneliness, a pain unlike any other. To feel as if it would be better to cut out ones own heart than to go on feeling as if you were alone. Only then to have the voices creep out of the darkness, so bewitching and beguiling. Voices that say he could have all he ever dreamed of and more if only he will give himself up to them.

Fingers of darkness stroking across the tattered shreds of his consciousness, the touch as soft and seductive as silk. It is all nothing more than shivers in the dark and enticing half-formed shadows that change with each passing moment.

Whispering voices calling out to him, sweet lies and vulgar promises, gaudy and glittering like half hidden gems strewn through the broken tunnels of his psyche. And always that face, that same face, watching him.

The eyes that will undress him, the red/brown orbs searing him with such an intense heat that it seems to freeze the blood in his veins. The thin, potentially cruel mouth, that one moment mocks him only to encourage him the next and always the kisses that are more addictive than any drug yet taste foul on his tongue. A flawless face and hair that is every shade of blue he has ever known and still more besides.

That face, that is both the answer to and the cause of every single problem in his ruined life. The face that is one of them, yet both of them and also neither of them. A face that is reminiscent of no other and yet he sees it no matter who it is that he looks upon.

And there is only one thing left to feel fear that wells for that dark, secret place deep within him. That same beloved cursed thing that had sparked that self-same terror into being. It had crated the dread and now that creation constantly threatens to consume them all.

The thing. The entity. The person. The love. The hate.

Changing and interchanging until he does not know who or even what they truly are. Until he does not know who he was or what he now is never mind what he is to become. To the point where he can't differentiate between what he remembers and what he has been told that he remembers. Once he had known himself, truly known who and what he was.

Perfection, unstoppable, unbeatable, unbreakable.

But he is broken now. He was lifted so high only to be dropped. Between then they elevated him to highest he had never even dreamed of until he would only have had to stretch out his hand to touch heaven. But then he was falling. Endlessly falling then to be smashed into a thousand pieces when he crashed. Like a sheet of glass smashing onto the waiting rocks until all that remained was the shimmering, slivers of what he had once been.

Yes, he knows the falsehood now, sees it for what it really is, but no longer recognises who or what he is.

How can it be? That the ever changing face that has made him forget who he is can be the most cherished thing in his life yet also the most abhorrent? How is it that he can want to reach out and smash that image of perfection, feel the need like a blade across his soul one moment and yet also feel as if he will never want to let his gaze linger on another likeness as long as he lives.

And it is at that point that it will come. The soothing darkness, the pitch black of the moonless night stretching on into eternity, which surrounds him in swirling shadows. A cold balm on a mind that is nothing more than a ragging inferno of desires and animalistic instincts, a collection of thoughts and emotions that were never and will never be more than a hairs breath from utter insanity.

The icy blanket will fall over him, the every waiting darkness pulling him further and further down into the vast never ending emptiness that is always there, always waiting for him just out of reach. But it is all right because he knows that if he wants to fly first he will have to learn to fall. To fall and then to crash and burn.

But he will drag them, drag him, down as well. And when they hit, when they are all broken into numberless fragments he will finally be free. And when they have been reduced to fragile shards he will finally be able to separate them properly.

He will take that loathed entity, that weak and pathetic thing that ripped his world apart and grind it into dust that he will scatter to the four winds. It came like a monster out of the darkness with it's blood red eyes burning like the pits of hell and destroyed all that he had even thought himself to be. With one seemingly simple act it stripped away the knowledge of who he was, and it had smiled and laughed as it had done so.

And as if that were not enough it had come like a thief in the night, creeping through the hallways of his mind, whispering seductively to him. Seducing what little if his rational self remained. Sweet words and burning touches and yet there were teeth that bit deep into his flesh and the nails that clawed at him staining his pale skin crimson. Until pain and pleasures blurred till it almost seemed there could not be one without the other. And he hated it even as he craved more.

With every touch and heated glance he had slipped deeper and deeper into the delicious madness, becoming nothing more than an extension of the one that seemed to infest every corner of his mind. The demon that slithered serpent like throughout his world, winding its cold unforgiving coils around the only one that he had ever loved. Crushing him until the two seemed as one, fused together into one single being.

They were one.

Lover and tormentor had become one and the same. The same hands that soothed and caressed him had become the same ones that slapped him down and ripped him apart. Once honeyed kisses changed until instead of the adored taste there was that of bitter poison. No delighted warmth of pleasure without the cruel harsh bite of pain. Love and hate, it was impossible to tell the difference between the two.

In truth he knew that it was because there no longer was a difference between the two. And whatever the heady, delirium inducing combination was he craved it as he had never hungered for anything else in his damned and worthless seeming life. The touch, whether it soothed or stung, was all he wanted to feel, and the kisses, no matter if they were sweet or sickening, was the only thing he ever again wanted to taste.

Over and over again he would tell himself that some day some how he would once again split the single being into its two rightful halves. The creator and the destroyer. The beloved and the despised. But with all that had happened he wondered if it would ever really be possible for one to exist without the constant companionship of the other.

And the most daunting question of all was would he be able to continue to survive if he was separated from the beguiling caress of either?

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Lamb: Ok, so the angsty Hiro/Brooklyn with a bit of Kai thrown in didn't really end up like it was meant to. But we did get a lot of angst and all three of them were there… I'm sorry my love, you deserve so much better but I hope you're not too disappointed.

**Muse:** It's hell switching back and forth between different fandoms, just be happy we managed to keep ninja from killing the crazy redhead.

_Dedi:_ Considering we were panicking we might not be able to write anything it could have been a lot worse. Once again happy birthday to our beloved Squishy we love you so much.

Please R and R I'd love to know what you thought.

Big love and inspiration

Lamanth


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